


A Mere Appendix

by audreyhepburns_eyebrows



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 100 Drabble Challenge, Angst, Character Study, Drabble Collection, Drowning, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Knives, Minor Injuries, Platonic Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:33:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyhepburns_eyebrows/pseuds/audreyhepburns_eyebrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a drabble collection based on a prompt table made by KCS on the "Mere Appendix" LJ. </p><p>Some may be AU, may contain character death, you'll just have to wait and see I guess? I'll be posting 2 a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Murder

After spending several days without a case, Sherlock Holmes wasn't the most pleasant person, and after snapping at Watson, he had promptly locked himself in his bedroom and away from the rest of the world.

Watson sighed as he heard the unmistakable sound of a violin droning, and had prepared for a long night.

Once he had finally managed to get himself to sleep, he was abruptly woken up by Holmes, who had a telegram in his hand.

"There's been a murder Watson!" He said exictedly before stalking out of the room.


	2. Nightmare

Holmes had finally concluded this case sucessfully, and the strain of several days work had caused Watson to halfhazardly throw himself on his bed in exhaustion the moment they got back in Baker Street.

He was woken up only a few hours later when a gut wreching scream echoed through the house.

Donning his dressing gown and stuffing his revolver into it's pockets, he slowly crept toward where the scream had come from - The sitting room.

Upon entering, Watson could see nothing was amiss besides the fact that Sherlock Holmes was sprawled on the floor, visibly shaking and incoherently moaning about something, but still unconcious.

Then it dawned on him - Holmes was having a nightmare.


	3. Grief

It was raining when Watson had finally mustered the courage to take a walk to that dreaded place, he didn't know why it was so hard for him to go to where his friend rested, but he assumed it was because a small part of him blamed himself for Holmes' death.

If only he hadn't seen that the whole thing was a set up, and that Moriarty was on their trail the whole time.

Walking on the cobbletone, he slowly made his way to the graveyard where his dearest friend rested, completely oblivious to the tall and lanky figure who was watching him from afar.

Holmes had already been consumed with enough grief, but seeing his friend in such a pitiful state finally drove him away, and later that day he decided three years had been a long enough wait for his dear friend.


	4. Late Nights

It was around 3am, when I first stumbled into the sitting room, unable to sleep I decided that a glass of brandy and a bit of light reading might just let Morpheus take hold once more.

When I first entered the sitting room, the chill of the cold air made my old wound burn, for the fire had long gone out.

The scene looked no different from any other night, the moon shone through the windows and gave the area an eerie glow.

Striking a match for the fire, what I had failed to notice was a still form on the chair which Holmes usually occupies, as soon as the fire was lit I could see that indeed my friend had still not gone to bed.

Holmes had worked on a particularly strenuous case, and my mind didn't doubt that he probably was keeping himself awake with his iron will power.

I kneeled down beside my friend, who had made no move to stop me.

"Holmes, you must permit yourself some rest, it'll do no good if you collapse from nervous exhaustion tomorrow"


	5. Breathe

The first thing that Holmes' senses registered was the freezing cold that took his breath the instant he had hit the water, his clothes had become heavy and waterlogged and he struggled to find his way to the surface.

The lack of light made it so he could hardly see anything around him as he was pulled into the depths of the lake,

He could register the cold hands on his ankle, and thrashed and kicked, trying to pry himself free from their vice like grip.

His lungs were burning with the lack of oxygen, and he knew that Watson was probably panicking about him not rising to the surface, he made the mistake of taking a breath

Finally, as if by a miracle, the thing had let go of Holmes, and he had rushed toward the surface of the lake, coughing and retching up the water he had inhaled.


	6. Shoot

This case had taken them on a wild goose chase all through London, they were chasing The Jack, a convicted serial killer who had escaped custody.

Bullets were whizzing by as both men ran towards The Jack and his henchmen, who were shooting aimlessly hoping to get at least one of them.

Then, as if the world had slowed down, I saw Watson collapse, moaning in pain.

I ran toward him, completely forgetting that the Jack was getting away, I could see the blood pouring from his shoulder.

Thank the stars that it was only his shoulder, a few more inches to the left and my friend would be dead.


	7. Fire

When Watson finally woke up, the first thing he noticed was that Holmes was no where in sight, and that the building they had chased Rawson into was on fire.

He could hear Rawson laughing like a maniac as the building burned around them "You'll never find your friend now!" before he disappeared.

Looking around, his chest burned from inhaling so much smoke, and he coughed only to be rewarded with even more difficulty breathing then before.

He could hear the fire brigade approaching, but he still hadn't found Holmes in the mess of heat and flames.

Then he heard a great crash, running towards the sound he saw him.

His frock was on fire and he was slumped on the floor, unconscious no doubt.

As fast as he could manage, he carried the dead weight of Sherlock Holmes back into the safety of the street, then when he knew they were both out of harms way, he slumped down on the cool pavement, thanking the stars that they were both okay.


	8. Missing

He sat at the window of 221B Baker Street, staring out in the distance hoping to see the shadow that marked his friends return.

Holmes had been known to disappear for hours, and even days on end, but this time something was different.

Earlier that week he had left Baker Street in a frenzy, saying something about tying up loose ends and doing what had to be done.

He had not returned that night, Watson thought nothing of it. In fact, Watson had no concern over his missing friend, Holmes was more than capable of protecting himself, and would probably laugh at Watson worrying about him.

It wasn't until Saturday evening that he started to worry, Holmes would have sent a telegram if he had to be gone for more than a few days and this was just getting ridiculous!

A few hours later a telegram arrived, but to Watson's dismay it wasn't from Holmes.

It read:

**IF YOU WISH TO SEE YOUR FRIEND ALIVE MEET ME AT THE DOCKS AT 8 PM.**   
**COME ALONE OR HE IS DEAD.**


	9. Part 1 : Darkness

Holmes couldn't remember the last time he had seen daylight, surely it couldn't have been that long right? Or had he been so disillusioned that time was passing by more quickly then he had realized?

All he could register was that it was dark. So very dark, it seemed to creep into his very soul and consume him alive.

He could feel the congealed blood sticking to his face, and body, most coming from the burning wound on his side, it must be infected by now, for the men who had locked him here didn't bother cleaning the knives they so treasured.

The only thing the Detective could do was to breathe, yes, breath. Concentrate on breathing, and the fact that Watson is coming. He is coming to rescue you from the pits of the darkness.

Or maybe, just maybe, the good Doctor didn't care anymore, and that was what was taking him so long to come....but surely Mycroft would realized something was amiss?

He groaned in pain, rolling on his side as he heard his captors entre the room once more, he could smell the stench of the sewers on them, oh how death would be a mercy at this point.

No one was going to save him this time, he had been forgotten.

He held back a scream as the first man stood on his broken leg, he wouldn't break no matter how painful.

He would stay strong.

...but for how much longer?


	10. Part 2 : Light

He knew they were close to where the fiends were keeping Holmes, it had taken hours before the third gang member gave in, hours before he couldn't take the pain any longer.

Watson knew where Holmes was now, and he swore he would kill every last person who had laid a finger on him.

Lestrade and Gregson were trailing behind, followed by a few more constables, all armed.

They had to travel all the way to the outskirts of the town just to get to this, a run down shack where the gang were keeping his dearest friend prisoner, until he would give in and give them the information they needed.

He hoped that providence was on his side, just this once; if Holmes died he would not forgive himself, he already had to deal with his death once, and he didn't want to repeat the experience for real.

As soon as the shack was in sight he ran, kicking the door down in one swift movement and landing inside where two of the men were playing cards.

Wasting no time, Watson drew his revolver as Lestrade and Gregson entered the scene.

"Where is he?" He said in a voice that was far to calm.

"Where is who?" the man, Ruston, replied.

"You know who I am talking about, if you don't tell me where he is I'll kill you here"

...

He was on death's door, and he knew it. The darkness was falling upon him, almost crushing him, and how badly he wanted to give in now, how badly he wanted the pain to end.

He was slipping away, giving himself to the darkness, when suddenly, a light.

It was dim at first, but slowly grew brighter each passing second, then he heard it.

The voice was unmistakable, it was Watson's.

He closed his eyes and smiled faintly.

...

When Watson first entered the dark and dingy room, he was assaulted with the smell of rotten sewer, then he saw him.

He was slumped in a corner, turned away from him and on his side.

Then he realized the startling amount of blood he was lying in and rushed forward.


End file.
